Backcountry Skiing in the Selkirks: A Unique Adventure in the Wild

I started hiking guiding at fourteen years old, working for my parents’ backcountry lodge during high school and later university summers. A child of the mountains, I knew the most fulfilling life for me would be spent outside, showing people the simple wonders of nature. As they bathed in the beauty of meadows, lakes, and glaciers, I thrived in the joys of connecting with them. This love of the humans I walked with drew me towards the more complex and risky world of ski and alpine guiding. Not always simple, it turns out.

Ski guiding is hazardous. It’s all about balancing risk and reward for clients, assessing where the often-vague line of safety lies, and skiing runs that are both exciting and reasonable for the conditions that day, or even that hour. The line is always moving. “Safe” does not exist in the wintery mountains; there is always an inherent risk.

I begin my weeks of backcountry ski guiding by flying by helicopter into the remote Durrand Glacier Chalet of the Selkirks, near Revelstoke, BC. We go in as a crew of 16 guests, two other guides, and lodge staff. In recent years, I’ve become a head guide, and when I’m at work, the safety of all the guests ultimately sits on my shoulders. Fulfilling, but a heavy weight to carry.

The guests arrive as strangers, often not knowing more than a few other skiers. I arrive with plans for their ski week, my head filled with ideas to mitigate hazards, address uncertainties in the snowpack, and maximize their holiday. All of these distractions are obvious in the first few days. We are all leaving behind the world of cell coverage and our “real world” problems and adapting to the wilderness with people we do not yet know. There is an element of both excitement and stress.

This exact process was happening a few weeks ago, in late January, when I guided an incredibly memorable trip. As it happens, the conditions lined up perfectly, and I was able to ski runs I had never guided before, despite having spent hundreds of days in the Durrand Glacier area. When avalanche hazard is low and the weather is great, we get to ski into the far reaches of our area. This opportunity is what guests return for year after year, hoping to summit the large peaks in that zone.

On the morning of day three, we left the Durrand Glacier Chalet and set out for this remote area: the Moloch zone. While the Durrand Chalet has private rooms for all the guests and plenty of space, the Moloch Chalet is small. Guests share rooms, and it’s far more cozy. There is no internet. I love that. No internet is the seed that grows into meaningful connections out in the wilderness.

We climb Mount Fang and ski the 850 vertical-meter run down the dizzyingly fun run called Kaleidoscope, into Fang Bowl, and then climb up to a pass where we can ski into the granite and glacial amphitheater that towers around the Moloch Chalet. At this point, our crew of eight is warmed up to the idea of spending a few nights away. Everyone carries some group food, which I will cook. The comforts of the chef-made meals will wait a few days as we set our sights on the mighty Mount Graham, our highest ski peak, sitting just under 3,000 vertical meters above sea level.

As the sun sets in the deep valley, formed by towering peaks, the magic of connection is found. The group is playing cards, laughing, sharing stories, and telling jokes. We have arrived. I have arrived. I am reminded, once again, of the connection I sought to find with guests when I was simply a hiking guide in high school. They are shedding the social restraint that strangers feel and becoming friends. I am shedding my concerns about hazards and ski slopes, trusting in my decision-making and ability to make a great ski week happen, and remembering the beauty of humanity. The stars are bright above the hut. We are alone. It is magical.

The next morning, we set out, as friends, for Mount Graham. Conditions are not as good as I had hoped. I am uncertain we will reach the summit, but confident that we will have a memorable week regardless. I could turn back now and seek another objective, but a spark of hope keeps me moving toward the mountain. As we kick-turn our way up the steep slopes, I realize that conditions are improving. We are going to make it! One guest is afraid of heights, so I help him. But so do all the other guests. We are now a team, and words of encouragement from everyone convince this guest to continue climbing. They reassure him that he isn’t holding us back. We all want to summit together.

This is the beauty of guiding. Each person came to seek their own sense of accomplishment in the mountains, but now friendship and connection have made the success of the group more important than individual success. People are willing to go slower than they personally could go in order to accommodate their new friends. It’s beautiful.

We all stand on the summit of Mount Graham and take in the world sprawled below us. We see where we kick-turned, where we left our skis, and where we boot-packed to the summit. We see the Mount Moloch Chalet, tiny and far below us, and we look forward to another evening of cards and laughter. Tonight we will be warm with a sense of accomplishment, friendship, and community.

The remote wilderness and the challenges of the mountains bring us together. This is what I have always loved about my job, and it’s why I’ll forever be a child of the mountains. May we never grow up and lose this magic.